


How Can It Not Matter?

by Inspire_me_to_breathe



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, Declarations Of Love, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, I Had To, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Intended Suicide, Last words, M/M, Phone Calls and Answering Machines, Romance, So much angst, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Notes, but happy ending!, lots of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 07:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2301623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inspire_me_to_breathe/pseuds/Inspire_me_to_breathe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“God,” Eames whimpered, “I’m so scared, but I need you to know – fuck, I can see the train – I wanted to say that I love you. So fucking much. Have done since I met you. I wanted to be with you, and I’m sorry I never told you sooner.”</p><p> </p><p>This is not the voice mail Arthur had been expecting, or wanting, to hear. This was so much worse. This was it; the last time he would hear Eames' voice.</p><p>This was Eames' note.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Can It Not Matter?

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for suicidal thoughts and depression. Also very vague allusion to self-harm. Please don't read, my lovelies, if this could hurt you... I love you all, please stay strong :)
> 
> There is a happy ending!!!
> 
> I recommend listening to Creep by Radiohead, 9 Crimes by Damien Rice, Talk Show Host by Radiohead, Alibis by Marianas Trench and Where Is My Mind? by The Pixies, quietly in the background while reading. Or any other sad songs. It really adds to it, but is completely optional :P

Arthur was expecting a phone call. Eames always phoned him, no matter where he was or what he was doing, Eames would call.

Like the time he was pissed in some sleazy bar. He rung Arthur up and shouted over the music, “Have you ever been to Glasgow? It’s fucking brilliant!”

Arthur replied he had not, and Eames immediately invited him to catch a plane from Tokyo and join him for a few drinks. Arthur had politely declined.

And there was that time Eames was working a job without him, and was so bored and frustrated he phoned Arthur just to vent. “They’re idiots. No clue what they’re doing. If you were here, Arthur, you’d show those unprofessional arseholes how to do it.” Arthur had agreed.

The most memorable phone call had been from New York. Eames hadn’t been drunk, or bored, or frustrated. He spoke excitedly, his voice rising and falling like the ocean as he rambled on about the lights of the city. Arthur had laughed, smiling, because it was a good phone call, and then, just as Arthur was about to hang up, Eames blurted out, “I wish you were here.” And Arthur had replied, “Me too.”

So when Eames didn’t turn up to the warehouse in the morning, Arthur expected a phone call. Some indication of what Eames was doing, or where he was. Yesterday, the forger had been quiet. Introspective, but had still smiled softly at Arthur when they said goodnight. Today, the morning passed through, and Dom complained, and Ariadne made jokes and Yusuf shrugged and Arthur worried. And then, after they had all gone home for the day, and the sun hadn’t yet risen over Paris, the phone rang.

Arthur was the first in the next morning, and he noticed the red light on the answering machine immediately. He felt inexplicable panic bloom in his stomach and he crossed swiftly to the phone, pressing down the button emphatically.

“I’m glad none of you stayed late. I was worried Arthur would; he’s a workaholic like that.” Eames’ voiced filled the room, “I didn’t really want to speak to anyone.”

Arthur hesitated in front of the phone. This was not how Eames’ phone calls usually began.

“So this it easier for me, I guess. Which is nice, you could say, or maybe it’s unlucky, because this way you’ll be too late to stop me.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Eames?” Arthur growled at the answering machine. The voice continued, speaking over him.

“This is…” Eames paused, his breath sounding broken, “A bit of a cliché, but there’s nothing I can do about that. It’s customary, I believe, to leave a note for loved ones, and I hate to break tradition, so this is… this is my note.”

Arthur made a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

“Sorry it had to be you, but there’s no one else who would want to hear my note.” Eames laughed then, a little oddly, “Um… I’m not sure what to say. I should probably explain. That’s hard though, and I don’t really want to think about it. I don’t want to talk about why.” Eames was quiet for a second, “You understand, don’t you, Arthur?  Or whoever listens to this first.”

Arthur felt sick. He sank into the nearest chair, gripping the edge tightly and listened as if his life depended on it.

Eames drew in a shaky breath, “I want to be someone else. I don’t like me much, anymore. I mean, I really hate it. I feel wrong, inside. I feel empty, like I’ve lost something important that made me _me_ , and now it’s gone and I don’t know how to get it back.” Eames was silent for a moment, “But I don’t think I want it back. I don’t care about it anymore, so if I don’t… well, then I suppose I don’t want to be me anyway.”

The door of the warehouse swung open, and Ariadne entered with Dom. Arthur fiercely made a silencing motion, at which Dom shot him an alarmed look, his eyes flickering to the answering machine where Eames’ voice spoke regardless. There was as sudden light of understanding in Dom’s eyes and he dropped his bag and hurried to the phone, dragging Ariadne along by the hand, gripping too tight. The architect’s eyes were wide with concern at Arthur’s expression.

“I feel like shit. I haven’t eaten or slept in God knows how long, I don’t take care of myself anymore. I’m just… _tired_ , and I want to die. I just fucking hate it, so much. I _hate_ it.” Eames sounded like he was in public, in a busy place. People’s voices echoed faintly in the background, and Arthur learnt forward, desperate not to miss a word.

“I hate this world. It’s monotony. What we do. We hurt people, because they hurt people, just so they can go on and hurt more people. It’s a fucking mess, and it _scares_ me. Nothing makes sense anymore, I used to believe in right and wrong, but we’ve been doing this so long I’m not sure which is which anymore. I’m… scared. I’m so fucking scared, I just feel so fucked up.” Eames whispered, “My whole body hurts, my head, my chest, my wrists. Even my fucking mind. Every day is painful.” He said in a shaky voice and laughed humourlessly. “Nobody likes waking up in the morning, but I fucking _hate it_. It really goddamn hurts, because every day is the same, and I don’t want to be here.” Eames bit out with difficulty, “I want to be somewhere else. I want to sleep, and never have to wake up, because this world is shit but it’s all I’ve got. It’s killing me. Slowly. I don’t know if you noticed, but it is – I think it already has.”

“Oh God, Eames,” Arthur whimpered. He was focusing so intently on the phone that Yusuf’s sudden arrival made him jump, and he cast the man a desperate look. Yusuf paled.

“So… I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say, I’m not sure what you _want_ me to say. Except, I suppose, you want me to say I’m not gonna do it. But I can’t say that. I don’t want the last thing I say to be a lie. I’ve done enough of that in the past.” Eames voice was quiet, resigned, “Like yesterday when I said I’d see you tomorrow. That was a lie. I knew it was. And I lied when I said you were an idiot, or when I said you were a stick-in-the-mud, or that you were a bastard, a robot, a fuck-up, all of that. I never meant it. I lied. Because you are… just, like, fucking _perfect_ , Arthur, and that’s not a lie.”

Arthur shook his head, “Shut up, Eames. Just shut up.”

“The train comes in six minutes. I could either get on it and come back to the warehouse, or I could jump in front of it. That’s a decision I never thought I’d want to make. But here I am. It’s like I am – finally – in control. This is my choice. This is my train and I can do what I like.”

“Get on it!” Arthur’s voice rose painfully, scraping his throat with its intensity “Get on the train!”

“So… this is goodbye. A long goodbye, I grant. A six minute goodbye. So I’ll start with Yusuf, because you’re my oldest friend and have been so faithful and loyal over the years, no matter what shit I drag you into.”

Yusuf made a surprised noise, and stepped closer to the phone, shaking.

“You deserve a better friend; I should have _been_ a better friend to you. I’m sorry I’m not coming to your thirtieth next week. I’m sure it will be great, I already brought a present. It’s in the desk drawer at home. Use the spare keys to get in, if you haven’t gambled them away already. You can keep the flat. I don’t need it, but it’s bigger than yours. Might fit all those cats in, if you want.” Eames sounded like he was smiling, and Arthur’s heart broke. “Or you can sell it, keep the cash, spend it on something nice for Mandula because she’s a great girl and she deserves to be spoilt and I know you two can be happy together, if you stop messing around and sort out your life. She loves you, I can see that… so just make sure you love her good too.”

“I do. I will,” Yusuf resolved, in shock.

“Ariadne, I wish I’d had more time to get to know you. You are brilliant; a bloody genius, and I believe you will go far. I know I can’t ask you to leave the business, but I wish you would. Because you’re too innocent and pure to be tainted by this madness.” Ariadne shook her head, sobbing onto Dom’s shoulder, “If you can get out, please do, but I understand if you don’t want to. I was young once too.”

Ariadne wept harder, burying her face and biting down on her hand so the others could still hear the message.

“Cobb.” Eames began solemnly, “Just forgive yourself, mate.” He said a little guiltily, “I think Mal already did.”

The answering machine showed there were only two minute left of the recording. Arthur stared at the blinking lights, hardly daring to move. Two minutes. How could you put a time restriction on someone’s life?

“Arthur, my darling. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have made it this long. You really are,” Eames’ voice broke, “Incredible. I hope you never hated me too much, I know I can be a bastard and I think we got off to a bad start.”

“You laughed at me,” Arthur ground out, his mouth was dry.

Eames continued sadly, “Truth was, I was awestruck by you. You blew my mind and I could never piece it together again in the same way. You changed me. You made me _want_ to change.”

“Eames…” Arthur whispered, clenching his fists. His vision was blurring with tears. He never thought he’d have to listen to this phone call.

“I like to think I lived my life honourably, for the most part, and it was because of you.  So, thank you, Arthur. I was broken, once, and you, you saved me. When I called from Glasgow. I was about to put a gun to my head. Hearing your voice was… enough. That night, you saved me.” Eames let out a long breath, “You said you wouldn’t come, but your voice was enough.”

“I could still save you,” Arthur breathed, forgetting for a moment this was just a voice mail and the forger couldn’t hear him.

“And that job was driving me insane. I was so close, and again, you picked up. And New York. I could see the city lights from the top of the Brooklyn Bridge, and I was ready to jump. But I didn’t. Because of you.”

Arthur stood up in alarm, “Fuck it, Eames!”

“It’s just something I need to do. Not much of a life I’m living. You were the only thing, _the only thing_ , I lived for. You brought me reason, you gave me purpose, and I wish I could stay, but I can’t. I’m so sorry, I _can’t._ Arthur.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“God,” Eames whimpered, “I’m so scared, but I need you to know – fuck, _I can see the train_ – I wanted to say that I love you. So fucking much. Have done since I met you. I wanted to be with you, and I’m sorry I never told you sooner.”

“I love you too, you _know_ that, you fucking bastard!”

“I think we would have been good together, I really think we would have had a shot in this crazy, fucked up world. But I missed my chance with you. Sorry, just _sorry_ , I’m so fucking sorry, Arthur.” Eames' voice rose in fear, “I’m giving up. I have to, I can’t do this anymore. I have to give up.”

“Goddamn it, Eames!”

“Trying to die happy, die thinking of you… _you_ , Arthur, are just goddamn beautiful. I wanted you to know.”

“Then come and say it to my face, you asshole! Come and say it to me.” Arthur cried, gripping the phone. “You fucking bastard…”

“You deserve someone much better than me. Someone who doesn’t lie. Someone who still feels things, and still wants to share a future with you.”

“Don’t jump.”

“Someone who isn’t scared and won’t leave you. Someone who’ll be right for you.” Eames gasped. The sound of the train was approaching, and Eames’ voice hardened. “But no one will ever be good enough for you, Arthur. No one will love you as much as I do. _No one_. You hear me? No fucking one.”

“Get on the train, Eames!”

“You are worth so much and I just… I’m sorry, the train… Arthur. It’s here.”

“ _Get on it_.”

The train’s noise was deafening.

“Arthur, it’s here and I have to go… I just have to…”

“Get on the train!”

“Fuck, Arthur,”

“ _Eames!”_

“Goodbye, darling, I gotta go. I have to-”

The recorded cut off. The room with filled with the static silence of an ended call.

“Just get on the train…” Arthur choked, falling to his knees, “Get on the goddamn train, Eames.”

The room was silent. Ariadne placed an uncertain hand on his shoulder, but Arthur barely felt it. He closed his eyes tight, palms covering his face as his body shook, each shudder stealing his breath. He cried and his lungs felt like they were being ripped open. He’d never felt emptiness like this.

All that remained of Eames was this recording. He was gone. He was fucking _gone_.

Arthur tried one last time, begging, his words raw, “ _Please get on the train_.”

No one answered.

 

 

 

 

 

And then-

 

 

 

“I got on the train.”

 

 

Arthur’s head snapped up, and a cry was torn from his throat. The forger stood in the doorway, trembling, pale and gazing at Arthur, looking broken, “Arthur …”

“You got on the train,” Arthur gasped, his heart stuttering, he stood up, feeling dizzy, “You got on the train.”

Eames started to smile, but the motion was ruined as tears ran down his face, “I’m sorry, Arthur, please… I couldn’t leave you.”

“Eames,” Arthur couldn’t breathe, he forgot how to. He stumbled forward and pulled the forger into his arms, catching his mouth in a desperate kiss, “Eames, _Eames_ , oh my God, Eames,” He muttered, forcing their lips together, “I love you, you bastard.”

Eames moaned, “I know, Arthur… I’m sorry.” He shivered in Arthur’s arms, “I don’t know how to stay, but for you I want… I want to try. I want to be alive for you.”

“Oh God,” Arthur brushed a thumb over his cheek, marvelling at the heat underneath his skin and his beating heart, “Don’t leave.”

“I’m so _scared._ ”

Arthur kissed him, “It’s okay. We’ll be okay… Fuck it, Eames.” He gripped the man tightly, his muscles aching with the force of it, “It’s gonna be okay.”

“Arthur…”

“It’ll be okay.”

 

 

 

 

 

And it was.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, er... I had to post this at two in the morning because it's better to kill fictional characters than anyone else. Sorry if this depressed you... obviously I needed a happy ending, so at least there's that. Don't really know what else to say, except it was partly inspired by Ross and Rachel's phone call in the series finale of Friends... you know the one.
> 
> Please comment/ leave kudos if you liked it!! I need some good stuff to cheer me up :D


End file.
